Erich von Manstein, Europe's Powder Keg, and Heinz Guderian
Erich von Manstein. And his classmate Heinz Guderian. Just like in my second attempt, these two men shared a great deal in common with me this time around as well. It felt like reuniting with old friends after so long. Of course, to them, today was our first meeting...
"So, you're a first-year? You talk like some old fogey."
"I hear that a lot, sir."
"Yeah, I've heard it plenty myself. Guess I'm quite the oddball."
"If you're an oddball, sir, then every Junker in Prussia must be one. Frankly, I've never met anyone as sensible as you."
"In the land of the cyclopes, the man with two eyes is the freak. Truth is, you, me, and Heinz here are the real oddballs. When the world's full of freaks, the normal ones stand out."
"Profound, sir. But not bad at all. Then I'll be a freak too."
"Hey, Erich. Count me in as a freak."
Heinz Guderian chuckled as he said it, downing his beer in true Übermensch German fashion.
"Right. Let's all just be freaks, then."
Manstein ordered another round for Guderian, then rose from his seat.
"Still, this is a social gathering. Can't have us freaks sticking together. We ought to mingle. Right?"
"It was a pleasure, sir, even if brief."
"Let's meet again sometime. Falkenrain."
"Call me Lucas."
"Alright, Lucas."
But this would likely be the last we'd talk for a while after tonight's gathering. The next time our paths would cross was in the First World War.
July 2, 1914. The moment had finally arrived.
Four days prior, on June 28, 1914, the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne and his wife had been assassinated by the Serbian nationalist group "Black Hand." The direct trigger—and spark—of the First World War.
I quietly folded the newspaper. I drained the last of my coffee and stood up.
"Hoo..."
This was only my third time facing it, but my hands still trembled. To crawl back into that hellish battlefield...
But this time would be different. For one, my posting as artillery was now set in stone. I'd focused on artillery studies at the War Academy, and everyone—my classmates, seniors, officers, and professors—knew it was my specialty.
Even if I returned to a Bavarian regiment, the odds were high I'd end up as rear-line artillery, firing guns from safety.
Ding—ding—ding—
The bells tolled. These were the ones rung at the Berlin War Academy to assemble the cadets.
I quickly checked my uniform and dashed to the parade ground.
Soon, everyone assembled there. Then, atop the grand hall's balcony appeared Konstantin Schmidt von Knobelsdorff—the head of the Berlin War Academy and an officer from the Prussian General Staff.
The dean's personal appearance proved this was no ordinary matter. The assembled students swallowed hard.
Dean Knobelsdorff bellowed from the balcony, his voice raw and unamplified.
His speech carried on through the silent hall, reminding us that Austria's peril was ours too, before cutting to the heart of it.
With that, the staff course at the Berlin War Academy was suspended indefinitely. We were to await developments at our respective regiments until tensions eased.
Even if studies resumed in Berlin, home units were separate. After half a year of training, I was heading back to the 16th Bavarian Reserve Infantry Regiment.
The situation evolved by the hour. Until mid-July, we simply waited at our units with little change. But tensions mounted relentlessly.
The assassins of the Austro-Hungarian heirs were confirmed as Serbian nationalists. Outraged Austro-Hungarian citizens clamored for war. Newspapers obsessed over the incident for a month, flooding pages with commentary and condemnation of Serbia.
Even if it was for Serbia's sake, such an act spelled doom for them—and the brazen assassination of a European heir put every monarchy on edge.
At least he went out with a bullet. Some prince in another land died groaning from food poisoning after eating persimmons with soy-marinated crab...
One heir had even starved to death in a rice chest. Anyway, with an incident like this, an Austro-Hungarian declaration of war on Serbia wouldn't have been surprising.
Yet, even after the culprits surfaced, nearly a month dragged on. Then, on July 23, the Austro-Hungarian Empire issued its ultimatum to Serbia.
July 28: Serbia ignored it. Austria-Hungary declared war.
July 30: Russia proclaimed general mobilization to defend Serbia.
The snowball rolled, culminating on August 1, 1914, when Germany—ally to Austria-Hungary—declared war on Russia, opening the First World War.
It had all happened in just one month.
I too had to rush from Berlin back to Bavaria. Upon arrival, I was summoned to an emergency officers' meeting.
As a lowly junior, I had no chance to speak—just sat in the back, listening.
"The Bavarian Kingdom Army will join as the German Empire's 6th Army. Our targets: France and Belgium. France declared war as Russia's ally; Belgium refused our demands. All regiments and divisions move west. Designated units stand by. Questions?"
Kingdom Army commander Rupprecht von Bayern laid out our fate plainly.
After the briefing, the regimental commander approached me and handed over a single document.
"You're Lucas von Falkenrain?"
"Yes, sir."
"Your assignment's changed. You're transferring from the regiment to direct Army HQ command. Details in the papers. Good work with us so far."
A clean, straightforward reassignment. I saluted and stood at attention until he turned away.
Then I opened the document. My unit had shifted from the 16th Bavarian Reserve Infantry Regiment to the 1st Bavarian Infantry Artillery Brigade, under direct HQ command. Rally point: Temporary HQ at Wittbruch.
With little time before muster, I boarded another train without rest. Luckily, my old regimental adjutant handled my gear, making boarding easy.
Clunk—thud—
"Hah..."
This era's trains were junk—crude and bone-rattling. Having known modern trains and subways' smooth rides, I'd never adjust to this.
Yet passengers somehow slept soundly. Impressive.
"Anything you need, sir?"
"Coffee, please. And a newspaper—the latest if possible."
As an officer, the conductor treated me deferentially. In this age, officers were nobility by another name. And since Prussia, Germany's elite had flocked to the military. It was natural.
"Is the coffee to your liking?"
"Excellent. Thanks to you, I can relax on the way to the front."
Clunk— The coffee tasted like dirt, the train still jolted. Even the paper wasn't fresh.
But I knew: Sipping coffee and reading newspapers on this train was the height of luxury compared to the hell awaiting me...